The sacred fruit of the fancy
Temped the heart,
Made it rebel…
He abandoned all and everything,
He was lost, he disappeared, he left.
But in his bosom he kept
Just his country, his native land…
He located it where he settled –
There, in that very place.
And, at last, he slaked his thirst:
He fondled his country and praised…
Translated from Georgian
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem